


Nostalgia is just another word for ignorance

by ApatheticAthena



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bisexual Tony Stark, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-23
Updated: 2019-07-30
Packaged: 2020-07-12 08:27:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19943152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ApatheticAthena/pseuds/ApatheticAthena
Summary: Steve just wants to have a friend he can talk about his past with, and Tony, well Tony would rather forget the past ever existed.How long will it take Steve to figure out that bringing up someone's abusive dead father is not the best way to make friends? Probably longer than it should.





	1. The Fondue of the Future

**Author's Note:**

> Planning to have this eventually lead into Steve/Tony. I am not from the 1930s, but I do have an online slang dictionary, so I'm trying my best here.  
> I'm switching between Steve and Tony's POV, I might add another POV later if the story needs it.

Steve Rogers hated being alone. He hated waking up in an empty apartment when before. No. Before hurt too much. Sure he had Peggy. He visited her as often as he could spare the time. And some days she even recognized him. Steve lived for those days, because on those days he felt maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t alone in this new century. On those days, Peggy and him would reminisce about before. Mostly they talked about Howard. See, it was too painful to think about Bucky, Steve had watched him fall not just a few months ago. Thinking about Bucky was hard. Maybe it made him a coward, but he tried not to think about Bucky, and, for the most part, he succeeded. At least when he was awake. 

So Peggy and he talked about Howard. Howard was a nice, safe topic. Sure it hurt to remember that, like everyone else he had known from Before, Howard was dead. But the two had never really been close enough for the news to make even a dent when compared to the hole left by Buck. And for Peggy, well for Peggy, Howard had been dead for years. Plus the two had grown apart after the war, her with her uphill battle against glass barriers and misplaced patriotism that prevented an English immigrant woman from advancing in the newly minted American intelligence agency, and him with his endless string of inventions, scandals, and, eventually a family. So on the rare days that Peggy was present when Steve came to visit, they joked about Howard. Peggy told Steve how Howard had never given up on finding him. Steve told Peggy about Howard’s attempts to convince him to be a pin-up model for his flying car project, a project which Peg told him, through hysterical laughter, had continued to publicly fail at the Stark Expo every year until Howard’s son had cancelled the project in his first act as CEO.

Then the Avengers happened and it seemed he was never alone anymore. Except in his head. He was always alone there. While Howard had morphed into this representation of everything he missed from Before -- friendship, comradery, and the excitement of new technology rather than his current state of befuddlement -- Stark seemed determined to be his father’s foil. Stark represented everything he used to hate about Howard with none of his endearing charm. When Howard had found out the first-gen kid from Brooklyn had never eaten fondue and, in fact, had no clue what it was, he had treated Peggy, Bucky and Steve at a small, almost deserted restaurant in London. That meal, just the four of them, still riding the “Creation of the Howling Commandos” high and believing they could save the world, remained one of Steve’s only good memories from Europe. But this, this thing with Stark. This wasn’t the same at all.

Steve had been trying to subtly ask Natasha what the hell Stark was talking about but, of course, that blustering irritant had to eavesdrop in.

“Killer robots, thwarting supervillains, all in a day’s work. Now, who wants pad kee mao? No, let’s get sushi. Or cerviche.” Stark began his verbal onslaught before he had even stepped all the way out of his suit. “J.A.R.V.I.S. buddy, cross reference for place not destroyed by the Transformers and sort by distance.”

“Right away, sir.”

Steve leaned over to Natasha whispering, “what is Stark talking about this time? Sometimes I think he just makes words up.”

“Shoot, I forgot about resident nonagenarian. Scratch that, J, limit search to European or American places.” Stark turned towards Steve, continuing, “is that alright? Or would you rather just eat at the tower? I can have a chef here in ten minutes if it’s past your bedtime.”

Steve felt like a moron. Howard never talked down to him like this. Sure, he might make the occasional joke at his expense, but that’s what friends did. Stark wasn’t his friend though, he was just another rich bully. “It’s fine. We can go out for dinner, if that’s what everyone else wants.” Steve pointedly looked around to see nods of assentment from the rest of the team. Stark might be bankrolling the team, but that didn’t mean he got to push them around. “I just don’t know what pad chemo or sushi or Sir Vekay is.”

“Pad kee mao and cerviche. Christ Cap, you’ve been in the 21st century for how long now? I know diversity might be a strange concept for you, but at least _try_.”

Steve bit back a retort about how Brooklyn had been a mix of a variety of Jewish, Irish, Eastern European, and other immigrants. Last time he’d tried he had just been met with laughs and comments about how that might have passed for diversity in the 40s but white wasn’t diverse anymore.

“I could go for some cerviche,” Clint responded, pulling out his phone to look up nearby places. “J.A.R.V.I.S. is the place on 52nd street still open?”

“It appears it is, Agent Barton.”

So the team, except for Thor who had a date with Miss Foster, went out for dinner at the place Clint knew where the waiters only spoke Spanish and Steve had to ask Natasha for help ordering. Again.

When the food came, Steve tried his best to hide his surprise at the cold fish, and ended up leaving the restaurant still hungry. He had been unable to finish his plate once Bruce told him _pulpo_ was actually octopus. Despite working at the docks in his youth, when he was well enough to work that is, Steve’s experience actually eating seafood was limited to canned herring, lobster and other cheap fishes. Plus, octopi reminded him of Hydra.

“Didn’t like the cerviche?” Steve looked up from his cheese sandwich to see Stark lounging against the counter, cradling a cup of coffee.

“Not fond of seafood.” Steve narrowed his eyes at Stark, “should you be drinking coffee this late? Is that, did you put bourbon in there?”

Stark ducked gracefully under the arm Steve had stretched out to grab the cup. “Actually, it’s Irish Whiskey. Anyway, I should get back to the lab.”

Before Steve could ask if Stark should really be working in the lab drunk, the man had already gone.

  


The next morning, Steve opened the fridge to find an oversized cardboard box addressed to “The Great Sage Equal to Heaven” with a note instructing him to learn more about the rest of the world. Inside the box was a collection of various foods, each one had a sticky note explaining the cultural significance in their country of origin. None of the dishes had seafood. It was a clear attempt to belittle Steve for his cultural ignorance in a public way the entire team would notice. Stark was once again flaunting his wealth and humiliating Steve in the process. How it was that Stark hadn’t manage to inherit a single ounce of Howard’s social graces or thoughtfulness would never be clear to Steve. It pained him to see how arrogant and condescending his friend’s son had turned out. In the corner of his eye, Steve saw Stark trying to slip past him to the coffeemaker.

“Stark, what the hell is this?” Stark’s head shot up, eyes like a deer caught in the headlights, coffee only half poured.

“Just trying to expand our team dining options, Cap-cake. Can’t keep subsiding on hard tack and potato stew. Not all of us are used to army rations, Private Ryan.”

Steve spun around, suddenly not feeling hungry. “I’m going on a run. See you later, Stark.”

“Steve-” Tony’s protests were cut off by Captain America’s abrupt departure from the common floor, running down the stairs. Apparently the need to remove himself from Tony’s presence was so urgent he would rather go down sixty flights of stairs than wait for the elevator in the same room as him. Not that Tony could blame him.

“Tony, what was that?” Tony jumped, when the hell had Natasha gotten there? And was that Clint next to her? He’d never seen the archer awake before noon before. 

“Just trying to expand Cap’s horizons, not my fault he got his panties in a bundle.”

“Tony, you know Steve’s sensitive about being trapped out of his time. You shouldn’t tease him about it. Plus I know he takes it extra hard coming from you, you know how he admired your father.”

“Do you think the Captain would mind if I grabbed some of these baozi?”  
“Go for it Clint, I’m going to check on Steve.” Shooting Tony a glare, Natasha ran after Captain America down the stairs. Sometimes Tony wondered why he bothered to instal elevators.

Clint pulled the box of baozi out of the fridge and popped it in the microwave. Perched on the counter, he sucked on his chopsticks and stared at Tony. Tony grabbed his coffee and turned to leave for his lab, not bothering to snag any breakfast for himself in the process.

“Why do you do it?”

“Do what?” Tony turned to see Clint looking at him, head cocked, baozi juice dripping out of a half eaten bun.

“Why do you try so hard for us. Don’t think I didn’t notice all those new arrows outside my door this morning. Or the new impact-resistant bra with hidden holsters you made Natasha. Which, while appreciated, creepy dude. If Nat wasn’t so enamored with the idea of boob guns she might have killed you herself.”

“Don’t take it personally Barton, just doing my best for the team.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night Stark, which, speaking of, when was the last time you slept? Because between the box for Steve and the gifts for Nat and I, it couldn’t have been last night, not with how late we got back from the mission.” Tony took a long swig of coffee as Clint narrowed his eyes at him before continuing. “And it wasn’t the night before because I know for a fact you were up until 5 playing Call of Duty with me and then had a sparring session with Nat a six. Plus, you made us all breakfast yesterday.”

Tony dumped out the old coffee grounds and began filling the filter with fresh ones. “I sleep enough, don’t worry your pretty head over it sugarplum.” While the coffee was brewing, he pulled a handle of Bailey’s out from under the counter and added a healthy measure to his mug.

“Tony it’s 7am.” 

“Thanks elf eyes, I can tell time. J, where we at with that rendering?”

“82 percent, sir.”

“That’s what I like to hear. Well, see you later Robin Hood.” Tony clapped Clint on the shoulder and breezed out of the room leaving the archer speechless in his wake.

Tony jogged down the three sets of stairs separating his lab from the common floor. There was, of course, no rendering waiting for him in his lab. That was a get out of jail free card he had taught Jarvis ages ago. Whenever Tony asked him how the rendering was going, Jarvis would pick a number at random between 80 and 95, whereupon Tony could pretend he had an urgent project waiting for him and politely withdraw from whatever conversation or meeting he was engrossed in. So far it had never failed him, though he thought Pepper might have some suspicions.

He sunk into his desk chair, head bent over the coffee cradled in his lap. Why did Captain America have to be so difficult. Every conversation with him left Tony feeling like he’d run a marathon. Nevermind that he’d spent all night tracking down the best samples of dozens of different country’s cuisine to help him acclimate to the 21st century culinary scene. Captain America would rather run himself to death than eat something made outside of the US of A. And, per usual, Tony was the bad guy for trying. Whatever. Screw Captain America and his outdated nationalistic views. And screw Natasha and her need to constantly bring up his dear old dad. As if it was Tony’s fault Sleeping Beauty couldn’t differentiate between him and his asshole father who’d been dead a decade.

Draining his coffee, Tony filled the cup again, this time with expensive scotch, and pulled up the specs for his the gauntlet he was working on. That was how Captain America found him, an hour later, holding a soldering iron in loose hands and cursing out a copper wire that, for some reason, absolutely refused to curl the right way.


	2. Whoever said In Vino Veritas clearly had nothing to hide

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony drinks, Steve judges. Okay maybe Tony judges a little too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise the parts in Tony's point of view are going to get longer. I'm working the next few days, but I'll try to post something before the end of the week.

Steve jogged into the first floor of Avengers Tower wiping sweat off his brow with a sticky hand. If he didn’t know better, he’d swear New York had gotten warmer since the thirties.  
“Good morning, Betsy.” He greeted the receptionist who was starting to set up her desk for the day.

“Oh, good morning Captain Rogers, you’re up early.” She looked down and blushed, making a show of reorganizing the pens in her owl mug. 

“Well, I was just...I was just heading upstairs. I’ll see you later Betsy.” Steve turned, hiding his own red ears. Even now he still wasn’t used to dames giving him the time of day.

“Steve. We need to talk about Tony.” 

“Hell! Where did you come from?” Natasha emerged from the shadow of a doorway as Steve turned around. 

“Upstairs, same as you.” Natasha grabbed his hand, dragging him forward, “now come with me.” Steve allowed himself to be pulled along into a back office in a part of the building he could have sworn didn’t exist. “Now what’s your deal with Tony? You need to be nicer to him. He’s trying his best here and you could at least meet him halfway.”

“Trying? How is he trying? Is he  _ trying _ to make me feel even less like I belong here,” Steve gestured at the air, “than I already do? Is he  _ trying _ to remind me every day that a kid from Brooklyn could never measure up to butter and egg man Stark?” Steve paused to take a breath. “You know I knew his father, right? Howard was a good man, a good friend, but Stark...”

“Tony isn’t his father, Steve.”

“You don’t think I know that? I’m reminded of that every day. Like that stunt with the food this morning. Howard would never humiliate me like that. He wouldn’t make me feel lesser just because I didn’t have the opportunities he had.” Steve’s fists were clenched, his breath coming in sharp jabs.

“I don’t think Tony meant to embarrass you, Steve. That’s just how Tony is.”

“How Tony is” Steve echoed, blandly. “You mean an arrogant, know-it-all pip suffering from a severe case of affluenza?”

Natasha smiled, attempting to hide it behind a stern expression. “Who taught you ‘affluenza’?”

Steve smiled as well, anger beginning to fade. “Clint, he said not to take Stark so seriously, said he’s got a bad case of affluenza.”

“Don’t tell Clint I said this, but he’s right.” Natasha’s face grew serious again, “Tony’s not his father Steve, you would do well to remember that. But, maybe it would do the both of you good to trade stories and shoot the shit sometime. I’m sure he misses Howard just as much as you do.”

Right. Because Howard was Stark’s father. Of course he missed him more than Steve did. For the first time Steve wondered if maybe he was being selfish with his memories of Howard, it wasn’t like there were many people left who could tell Stark stories about his dad as a young man. With that in mind, Steve didn’t protest as Natasha guided him towards Stark’s lab with instructions to at least try to make things right.

“Stark?” Steve knocked on the lab door hesitantly. Then he knocked again, louder this time. When no response came, he began to wonder if Stark could even hear anything over the headache-inducing music that Steve could hear clearly, even through the allegedly soundproof walls of the lab. With that thought in mind, Steve slowly opened the door and tapped the blue rectangle on the wall that appeared to control the sound.

“Don’t turn down my music Pepper.” Stark turned from his position bent over the workbench, blowtorch in hand, to grab a metal cylinder off the corner of his desk. The movement caused the flame to move directly into his arm. “Fucking- pass me that rag would you?” Looking up for the first time, Stark’s face fell as he saw Steve. “Oh it’s you, nevermind princess.” He tossed the lit torch down onto the table haphazardly and swung his legs around the bench. Standing, he moved shakily towards the aforementioned rag, almost as if, almost as if he were-

“Stark are you drunk?” Steve asked, half in amazement half in disgust.

“What, no, just relaxing.” Tony fell into the standing desk as he grabbed wildly at the desired rag. “I finished the team updates last night, so I figured I’d take the repairs on my own armour a little slower. If that’s alright with you,  _ Captain _ .” Stark sneered the last word, as if Steve had come to the lab to reprimand him rather than to apologize.

“It’s 8:30 in the morning, Stark.” Steve glanced over at the half drained bottle of scotch on the workbench as he offered the coveted rag to sloppy man. “A little early for hooch, isn’t it?”

“‘S not early, ‘s late.” Stark snatched the rag out of Steve’s hand before sinking into the couch he kept in his lab, letting his head loll back as he threw on arm over his eyes. “God I wish you were Pepper right now.”

“Sorry to disappoint.” Steve responded coldly. He narrowed his eyes and sat down next to Stark on the couch, “Did you sleep last night?” 

“I’m going to sleep, just as soon as I finish these new blasters.” Stark reached out and drunkenly cupped the side of Steve’s head with a grease-stained hand. “I’ll get some sleep soon. Don’t you worry your pretty head about it.”

Steve lurched backwards at the touch, causing Stark to half fall forward before he caught himself on his elbows. He half lay, half sat on the couch with his head propped up on his hands, eyes staring unfocused in Steve’s direction.

“Your dad used to stay up late too,” Steve said, conversationally. “Never knew him to get sloshed though.”

“Yeah sure, Howard would never drink, not dear old dad.” Was that sarcasm Steve detected? Stark rolled off the couch, whatever spell that had kept him there seemingly broken. He snagged the lit blowtorch off the desk and, waving it around recklessly as he spoke, said, “I think you should go now, Rogers.”

The use of his actual name shook Steve, but it didn’t deter him from his mission. He’d promised Natasha he would do his best to make things right with Stark and Steve Rogers did not squelch on a promise. That wasn’t how his ma had raised him. “Look, Stark, I’m sorry about earlier. It just reminded me of this one time, in London, after your dad found out I had never had fondue. He took us out to this restaurant. Best night of the war, that night.” Steve looked down at his clasped hands and smiled sadly at the fond memory. “You remind me a lot of him sometimes, but I know it’s not fair for me to expect you to be him. So I’m sorry Stark. Stark?”

Stark had turned his attention back to the mass of tangled wires on his desk. But at Steve’s continued prompting he eventually responded in a soft voice, not even raising his head to look at Steve. “Look Cap, you can stay if you must. But maybe don’t talk about Howard, I just, I don’t have the energy to deal with this today.”

Of course, Stark wouldn’t want to talk about his deceased father with a man he barely knew and didn’t even like. No matter how close he had been to Howard. No matter if Howard was a connection Steve needed to his past.

“Here. Drink this.” Steve looked up from his hands to see Stark offering him a glass of expensive amber liquid.

“No thank you, it’s not even noon yet.” Stark had a lot of gumption to assume he could lower Steve to his level of debauchery.

“Take it. You look like you need a drink.” The tone brooked no argument and Steve wordlessly accepted the glass. Turning back around, Stark refilled his own glass as well. “You know what, fuck it, fuck the blasters. I’m getting drunk.”

“Stark..”

Before Steve could get his thoughts out, Stark whirled on him, suddenly angry. “Save it Rogers. You might be team captain but this is my lab and if I want to get drunk I will. Feel free to stay if you’re here to drink. But if you want to reminisce about dead men you barely knew, go find someone who cares.” Stark threw the glass of scotch back and picked up the bottle again, not bothering with the cup.

“I’m sorry. I had no right, I know you must miss your father more than I ever could. If you don’t want to talk about him, I understand.”

“Fuck. You still don’t understand do you Rogers? J.A.R.V.I.S., how is he still not getting it?”

“If I may, Sir, you appear to have failed to explain, per usual.”

“Shut up J, you know I really hate you sometimes.” Steve was uncertain if this last point was aimed at him or the A.I.. But either way, something inside Stark seemed to break, and he sunk to the floor, huddling around the rapidly emptying bottle.

Steve reached out, placing a hand on Stark’s shaking shoulder. “Are you alright?”

“Fuck off, Uncle Sam.” Stark’s eyes narrowed at the sight of the still full glass in Steve’s hand. “Drink or get out.” Ever the soldier, Steve drained the glass quickly, barely managing to appreciate the drink which, he was sure cost more than Bucky and his rent for a year. And that was accounting for inflation. “Here. Take this.” Stark thrust the remaining scotch into Steve’s hands and then stood, shakily, making his was across the lab to what appear to be an expensive and well-stocked liquor cabinet. “Rum or tequila?” Stark held a bottle out in each hand, looking back and forth between the labels. “Fuck it, porque no los dos?” Cracking open the rum, he took a long swig before echoing the action with tequila.

Steve could only stare as Stark practically inhaled the alcohol with barely even a wince at the burn. Something about the desperate way Stark drank reminded him of how Bucky would drink after coming back from Zola’s lab -- like he was drinking to forget something that could never ever be forgotten. 

But the comparison wasn’t fair to Bucky. He wouldn’t turn down a bit of bottled sunshine on the worst nights, sure, but he never drank in the morning. And never when there was work to be done. No. Bucky wasn’t a drunk, unlike Stark. Steve grew angry he had made the connection, even for a second.

“Stark, I think you should go to bed. You’ve had enough to drink.”  
“What are you? My sponsor?” Tony gestured widely, spilling tequila down his t-shirt.

“What? No? What’s a... never mind. Stop acting like an eight ball and go to bed.”

Stark lurched to his feet and, for a half second Steve thought maybe, just maybe he might heed his advice and get some sleep. Instead Stark strode to the door looking more like the Fortune 500 CEO than Steve had ever seen him, confident stride matching his coldly polite features. Had Steve not just seen him collapsed on the floor on the verge of a breakdown, he might have bought the show hook line and sinker. 

Dragging the door open wide, Stark gestured at the hallway and said, “Show him out, J..” And, just like that, Steve found himself being herded out of the room by an assortment of robots. Startled, Steve didn’t think to protest until he heard the door slam shut behind him. The only remaining sign of Stark was his music which, one again, came blasting through the locked door.

Fuck Captain America and his stupid fucking All American prohibition-era morality. 

“Sir, prohibition was repealed when Captain Rogers was 15. I do believe he is aware that people drink alcohol.”

Oh and fuck his college self and his stupid drug-riddled, grief stricken brain that decided building a sassy AI was a good coping mechanism.

“Shut up Jarvis.” Tony drunkenly threw a bottle in the general direction of the nearest camera, and smirked in satisfaction when he heard it shatter. “I swear to god I will turn you into scrap metal and sell you to the lowest bidder.”

“If I may Sir, the next spare parts auction in New York isn’t until next month.” Why? Why the everloving fuck had he programed sarcasm into his AI? Also, speaking of insufferable know-it-alls what the fuck did Steve fucking Rogers get off on going off about his dad like that. Compared to Tony, Rogers had known Howard for about the blink of an eye. Who the fuck was he to say if Howard drank or not? But no, Howard was this paragon of puritanical virtue, Tony must have dreamed all those angry drunken nights.

Tony lifted the remaining bottle to his lips and swallowed. How was it that here, years after Howard’s death, with more patents in the last year than Howard had earned in his entire life, he was still being compared to him? Compared and found not worthy. 

“I won a Noble fucking Peace Prize, Jarvis. Did Howard ever win a Noble Peace Price?” Tony took another swig before answering himself, “didn’t think so.”

“You did Sir. Would you like me to arrange for Miss. Potts to drop the prize off tomorrow? I do believe it is still sitting in her office from when she accepted it on your behalf. You were rather busy in Reno that week Sir.” Stark Industries was five years ahead of the technology of its time, and Tony Stark another fifteen years ahead on top of that. However, even Tony couldn’t say how his AI managed to sound both judgmental and condescending at the same time. Maybe this was what he deserved for leaving Jay with Pepper one weekend when he was still teaching him social skills.

Tony set the mostly empty bottle down on the edge of his lab table and threw himself onto the lab couch with a degree of abandon uncommon among his age. Covering his face haphazardly with one arm, he asked aloud, “why does Captain America hate me so much? How did I manage to screw things up so bad with the Star Spangled Man who gets along with everybody?”

Jarvis, wisely, did not respond and Tony was left alone wondering how he’d managed to ruin his chances of being accepted, even as just a consultant, onto this new team.


	3. It's called lunch, sugarplum

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sight warning for period typical homophobia (both 1940s and 2012). I'm basing the 1940s stuff on what Google says, but the 2012 homophobia and microagressions are all based on my own experiences.

Tony woke up several hours later shaking in the wake of a nightmare, with a pounding headache and three missed texts from Captain America. He blamed Barton, who else could have taught the resident elder to text? Tony deleted the messages without even bothering to open them. He didn’t see why the old man felt the need to bombarde him with texts when he knew he was sleeping. Okay, to be fair, three texts was hardly bombarding by normal standards. However, Tony was pretty sure by 1940s standards, three texts in a row was akin to showing up at someone’s door with a boombox. 

Tony pulled off his sweat-soaked Black Sabbath shirt and replaced it with a plain black T. Groaning, he shoved a pair of sunglasses onto his face.

“Time?”

“It is 11:57 in the morning, Sir. The other team members appear to be converging on the kitchen for lunch. Bruce has prepared what appears to be a lovely curry.”

“Jarvis, how many times do I have to tell you? I”m not a real member of the team, I’m just a glorified landlord.”

“As you wish Sir. The tenants are gathering for lunch, might I suggest you join them?”

Tony sighed and slowly stood up making his way towards the elevator. 

“-ark shouldn't be on the team. I'm trying to be patient, he just makes it so hard."

Tony walked up behind Rogers and draped an arm around his shoulders. “Perfectly natural reaction, grandpa. Besides,” Tony pulled his sunglasses off with his free hand and looked Rogers straight in the eye, “you’re not the only one that’s hard here.” Tony smirked at Rogers face and gave a suggestive wink before sweeping away towards Bruce who was bent over the stove. Clint was struggling to hide his laughter, which Tony felt a small satisfaction at. It was often difficult for the archer to show outward emotion, and any time he managed to break the ‘assassin mask’ was a proud one.

“What- that’s disgusting Stark.” Rogers took a shocked step away, nevermind the fact that Tony was already leaving his personal bubble. “Why would you say that? It’s wrong.”

Tony didn’t bother to turn around. It was too early in the morning to deal with the sexual hangups of a national icon. Besides, he really wanted to get Bruce’s opinion on those blasters.

“Jesus Steve, calm down, Tony’s just having one on over you.” Clint reached to place a hand on Rogers’ shoulder, but he stepped back before the hand reached him.

“So Stark’s not, he’s not” Rogers dropped his voice so Tony could barely hear it, “a three letter man?”.

“Three letter man? No clue. What’s that?”

Rogers’ eyes darted back and forth and he leaned in towards Clint, as if telling him his deepest darkest secret, “bent, like a nancy boy.”

Laughing, Clint shrugged his shoulders casually. “How would I know? Never felt the desire to watch any of his sex tapes myself.”

Having secured a promise from Bruce to stop by the lab later that afternoon, Tony brushed between Clint and Rogers carrying plates laden with food. “Your loss, Barton. They’re real works of art.” He placed one of the platters down on the table and turned to look back at the two men, “hey that’s an idea for the next movie night, sex tape marathon. Hear it’s great for team bonding. How about it Rogers?”

Tony settled into a chair and leaned back, hands behind his head, shooting Rogers a perverted smile in an attempt to hide how the turn of the conversation was bothering him. Damn it. Of course Captain America, Howard’s idol and America’s hero, would be a fucking homophobe. Just like the rest of this country. Tony briefly wondered if remnants of ‘Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell’ were responsible for his lack of official status before dismissing the idea for its ridiculousness. Sexuality aside, there were hardly a shortage of personality problems interfering with his ability to Avenge. Besides, Tony had no intention of going back into the closet for anyone, not even Captain America.

“Gross Stark. I still have nightmares from watching those tapes.” Natasha walked into the room from where she had clearly been eavesdropping in the hallway.

“Hey! Get your own chapati, this is mine.” Tony slapped unsuccessfully at her hand as she grabbed for his lunch.

“You shouldn’t subject poor Steve and Bruce to your deviancy. Someone has to look out for their virtue.”

“What about my virtue?” Clint looked at Natasha indignantly. “Aren’t you at all concerned about protecting my virtue?”

“I would be, if you had any virtue to protect. Remember I was at Budapest, Barton.”

“What’s on those tapes anyway?” Rogers pipped up from where he was spooning curry onto his plate, before picking up his fork looking entirely too ambivalent to the answer to his question for it to be believable.

Tony pulled out his phone, tapped a few buttons and Rogers’ phone began to ring out the first notes of  _ Shoot to Thrill _ . He’d set it as the texting tone when he’d given him the phone and Rogers’ apparently still hadn’t managed to change it.

Rogers slowly unlocked his phone. God it was painful watching him use technology. “What’s this, Stark? You sent me an email?”

“Just forwarded you all my public sex tapes. Figured I’d share the pleasure.” Tony paused to look at Rogers’ beet red face, “don’t worry, the shower cameras are all turned off.”

“You have cameras in the bathroom?” Clint asked, indignantly. “What about our privacy?”

“I have cameras everywhere.” Tony used a piece of chapati to pick up some of the curry, “I would take your privacy concerns more seriously if I hadn’t caught you watching me sleep.”

“I wasn’t watching you sleep, I was  _ trying _ to Parent Trap you.” Clint stuttered, trying desperately to defend himself as Natasha scoffed into her plate.

“Sure you were, Cupid. And Cap here wants my sex tapes for research.”

“That’s quite enough, Stark. Just because you’re sick and perverted doesn’t mean the rest of us are.” Rogers stood up, shaking the table as he slammed his fists down on it.

Tony looked up, casually, at the angry supersoldier. “Just curious, Van Wrinkle, do you actually know what  _ The Parent Trap _ is?”

“...no” Rogers replied, cautiously.

“Exactly.” A bang rang out when Tony’s chair slammed back down to four legs. He stood up and, grabbing another two chapati, began to head for the door. “If anyone else would like to be a bigot today, I’ll be in my lab.”

Steve felt like such an idiot. He couldn’t believe he had actually been worried about Stark that morning. Not only did he ignore his text reminders to drink water, but he brought up such disgusting topics at the dinner table. Steve couldn’t care less what Stark did on his own time, but scandals brought on by sex tapes would reflect poorly on the whole team. Not to mention, he felt he owed it to Howard to protect his son from a blue ticket from the Avengers. And, much as he was loathe to admit it, Steve had a vested interest in keeping the thought of a homosexual Avenger out of the minds of the rest of the team. He knew not everyone was as accepting as Bucky.

“Steve. Steve. Earth to Steve. Can I talk to you? In private?” Before he had a chance to answer, Clint grabbed Steve’s plate a whisked it away from him, forcing Steve to follow into the living room.

Shutting the heavy doors, Clint spun on Steve. “What’s the deal? Why do you care so much if Tony’s gay?”

“Stark’s not gay. He can’t be, you said yourself Clint, you haven’t seen the tapes, you don’t know for sure. Ask Natasha, she’ll tell you, she watched them.” Steve could feel his heart pounding practically out of his chest. It couldn’t be true. Stark was just standing up for equality. And if it was personal, it wasn’t Stark who was queer, it was a friend. Like Rhodey, or Pepper. That made sense. For all his faults, Stark was incredibly loyal his friends, Steve could see him becoming defensive on their behalf in a way he never would for himself.

“We both know that’s not true Steve. Now, do you mind telling me why you’re this bothered by it? Because I’m eighty percent sure he’s not flirting with you for real.” Clint paused for a second, then seemed to realize something, “actually, that can’t be how he flirts for real, because he does it with everyone, men and women that is.”

Steve sighed, Clint wasn’t getting it. He couldn’t care less if Stark was flirting with him or not. “I don’t care one way or another who Stark flirts with. I just-” Steve sank down onto the couch and buried his head in his hands. “I’m just worried about him. It’s not safe, being a fairy. I know Stark can take care of himself, but I feel responsible.” He looked up at Clint, “he’s a team member, and Howard’s kid. I want him to be safe.”

Clint stared at him for a minute before slowly opening his mouth, “I think, Steve, I think you should tell Tony that. Because earlier, Tony’s right, you came across as a bit of a bigot. Also,” Clint paused, and seemed to consider the best way to phrase things for a moment, “it’s not dangerous, being gay in New York City. He’s not going to get kicked out of the Avengers, or even S.H.I.E.L.D., not anymore. It’s 2012 Steve, we’re accepting now.” Clint laughed, “besides, Stark’s rich, the rules never matter to rich people.”

Oh. Steve had messed up, he’d messed up bad. Replaying the scene in the kitchen in his mind, he could see how Stark might have gotten the idea he had a problem with his proclivities. Really though, he just hadn’t wanted the rest of the team to catch on. Steve had known good soldiers who’d gotten court martialed for a lot less than a homosexual sex tape. And Stark hardly counted as a good soldier. But. If Clint was right, if it really didn’t matter anymore, then it should be safe to apologize. And, if Steve was being honest with himself, he really did owe Stark an apology.

“Sorry Clint, I need to go.” Pushing past the archer, he rushed out of the room, and, not bothering with the elevator, took the stairs down to Stark’s lab two at a time.

The lab was uncharacteristically silent. Steve could see Stark bent over his desk, glass in hand, tinkering with the dismantled scraps of a gauntlet. He knocked lightly on the door, holding up a cup of coffee he’d brought as a peace offering.

“Captain Morality, here stick a pink triangle on me and hand me over to Hydra?” Steve sighed, why did everything have to be difficult with Stark?

“No, actually. I’m here to apologize.” He stuck out the coffee towards Stark, hoping to smooth things over.

“What? Bruce give you the 21st century talk about love and acceptance above the Mason-Dixon line?” Ignoring the coffee, Stark took a long draught from his glass.

“No actually Stark, Clint did. And,” Steve drew a deep breath, “I’m here to apologize. I’m worried you may have gotten the wrong impression earlier.”

“What? The impression that I disgust you? Because that came through loud and clear.”

“No, that’s a bum rap Stark. I was worried about you. In my time, it’s not exactly, well it’s not exactly safe to be a homosexual. I didn’t want the team to find out and turn on you, or give you a dishonorable discharge. Letting you get a Blue Ticket, I couldn’t do that to Howard, I couldn’t do that to you Stark.” Steve could feel his eyes start to moisten, but Stark appeared to be unaffected. In fact, when he replied his voice seemed almost cold.

“Thanks but Howard made it pretty fucking clear how he felt about, what was your word? Oh yeah, Howard made it pretty fucking clear how he felt about my  _ perversion _ .” Stark almost spat the last word, before taking another drink, as if to wash away the taste of Steve’s words.

“Stark-” In typical Tony Stark fashion that Steve still wasn’t used to, he interrupted Steve’s second attempt at an apology and took the conversation in a 180 like only a Stark could.”

“Y’know, Steve,” he leered, looking over the top of his sunglasses, “cold and distant is doing wonders for my daddy issues. At this point, I’d probably cream myself on the spot if you called me Tony.”

Steve sighed again at the impossible struggle that was interpreting what Stark wanted. “Are you asking me to call you Tony, Stark? I didn’t want to assume.”

“Call me anything you want, but don’t call me late for dinner. Actually, you can call me that too, more often than not it’s true.”

“I’ll take that as a yes then, Tony. You know, Howard might not have approved of your unorthodox sexual tendencies, I wouldn’t know, it didn’t come up much on the front lines. But I think he’d be proud you’re a fighter irregardless.”

Stark, no, Tony, sighed almost sadly. “I think you should go, Steve.” He stood, as if to escort Steve out of the lab. Before he could, however, Steve opened his mouth and, heart hammering in his chest in a way that, had it not been for the serum, would surely have been unsafe, spoke.

“Tony, you know you’re not the only bent guy on the team.” Steve set his shoulders back, waiting for Tony’s reaction.

“What? Barton?” Steve seemed to have captured Tony’s complete attention. “I always suspected. No straight guy could spend that much time with Romanov and not try to make a move. And,” Tony smirked, “I doubt he’d still be standing if he tried to come onto the Black Widow.”

“No Tony, not Clint. You know what, never mind.” Steve turned to leave, already regretting coming to the lab in the first place.

“Shit. It’s you isn’t it?” Tony whistled. “Damn, Captain America’s gay. Who would have thought.”

“Please, Tony, you can’t tell anyone.” At this point, Steve began to panic for real.

“Jesus Ennis, calm down. I’m not going to tell you everything will be okay, because it’s not easy being out, but not one is going to jump you or court martial you anymore.” Tony paused, considering, “I take it you never told Howard?”

“I never told anyone, Tony. No one but Bucky.” Steve thought back on that particular conversation, and remembered how safe ad accepted he’d felt in that moment.

“And,” Tony hesitated again grabbing hold of Steve’s hands before continuing, “how did that go?”

“He wasn’t disgusted, if that’s what you mean. He said it was okay, that he got enough dames for the both of us. He used to take me on double dates with the dolls he met, gave me a cover. Kept anyone from catching onto my unnaturalness.”

Tony looked like he was about to protest, when the door opened to Bruce stepping in, cautiously.

“Hey guys,” Bruce stuck both hands into his pockets sheepishly, “Clint sent me down to make sure you hadn’t murdered each other yet.”

“Knock next time, Brucie-Bear. You could be walking in on Cap and I having make-up sex.”

Steve took an abrupt step away from Tony, quickly yanking his hands from where they had been held by Tony’s. “Why does every other word that comes out of your mouth have to be depraved and disgusting?”

Tony winked at him conspiratorially grabbed Steve’s hand again, “c’mon pumpkin, you know you love it.”

“I don’t know any such thing. Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to go upstairs and finish my dinner.” Steve turned to leave, but not before Tony managed a parting jab.

“Lunch, sugarplum, we call it lunch in this century.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about Clint. I know he's being biphobic, that will be addressed later. Only half of the US supported gay marriage in 2012, so it seemed too unrealistic for all the Avengers to be super progressive, but I can't imagine any of them as full out bigots either.


End file.
